Love Unsought
by Rotten Capers
Summary: Five years after the war, Harry Potter defends a divorced Draco Malfoy and his son, Scorpius, when being unfairly accused of a crime. Draco, convinced that he has a debt to pay off, gives Harry his address in case he needed a "small favor." Neither of them could've predicted the outcome of these seemingly meaningless actions. Pre-Slash, plus a cute Scorpius. Three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is a work of fanfiction, using characters and scenarios from the Harry Potter World, which is trademarked by J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are characters created by the wonderful woman stated above, and I hold no bearings over them. This does not adhere to all of J.K. Rowling's cannon, and is not considered official story cannon; this is written for the entertainment of both you and me, dear reader, and is no way endorsed or affiliated with J.K. Rowling or, by extension, Warner Bros. Films.**

 **Title comes from Shakespeare's quote: "Love sought is good, but given unsought is better."**

* * *

"Don't take that!" Amber eyes met Lapis Lazuli. " _Thief!_ "

"I didn't — I swear!" Tears clouded the small child's vision. "I bought it! For my daddy. It's special. You can't take it!" He clutched the book closer to his chest. Tears ran down smooth, pale cheeks. "D-Daddy! I n-need you!"

"No! I saw you take it." Pointing an accusatory finger, the flame-haired woman stuck her chin in the air. "Death-Eater scum." She spat on the ground where he was standing. A speck of spittle landed on the child's once-smooth, worn boot. "Just like all your kind. _Malfoy_." She forced the name out through her teeth, lips barred, as though she was uttering a profanity rather than a family name.

Suddenly, with surprising ferocity, the child glared up at her, eyes flashing. "My daddy's not a Death Eater," he said, his voice even. "Daddy's not a Dark Wizard."

"Ha!" A sharp, bark-like laugh exited from the woman, and the crowd that had gathered chuckled appreciatively. "Not a Dark Wizard! _Malfoy!_ " She looked to the crowd and smiled (It wasn't a very nice smile), before turning back onto the young boy.

"Let me tell you something, Little Baby Death Eater," she crooned with false sweetness, and laughed as the boy flinched at the nickname. "Your father is terrible. He killed millions. He is a stupid, self-oriented, vain, nasty, mean, Dark _bastard_ that has never amounted to anything, and never will be anything." She paused, and the child's tears ran more freely than before. She smirked. "So go run and to your _precious Daddy_ and know that you come from a line of failures. You're a failure."

The child scrunched up his facial features before starting to cry even harder. "Daddy!" he screamed, and the crowd jeered at him. _"Papa! Daddy!"_

At the loud screeching, the door to a small bakery slammed open, and a harassed-looking, thin man, wearing a very wrinkled suit, ran out of it, panting. Upon seeing the child in hysterics, he ran faster over to him, dropping his possessions on the cobblestone as he attempted to get to the child, only to be held back by the crowd. Kicking and fighting and completely lost of all dignity, Draco Malfoy yelled at his son in rapid-fire French.

"Scorpius! Are you okay? _Es-tu blessé? Ont-ils vous blessent?_ " The man lunged for the child, who cried even harder as he saw his father being held back. Worry flashed in Draco's eyes at his young son's tears. _"Calmez-vous! Je suis ici. Je ne vais nulle part, mon cher._ I shall never part with you, Scorpius. _"_

The child's tears still flowed, and he tugged on his shirt sleeves in anxiety, attempting to determine if he could run up to his dad. The rapid-fire exchange that blurred the lines between French and English was baffling the woman who accused them, and she looked at the crowd for support. " _Je suis peur, papa_. I want them to go away. Scared," he murmured, and hugged the book closer to his chest. Nervously, he started to edge toward Draco, scuffing the toes of his well-worn shoes on the pavement. Looking around with big eyes, he stole a glance at his father, who opened his eyes wide, looked toward the guards around him, and, after a few seconds, gave the tiniest of nods. Gathering courage, Scorpius ran all the way into his father's arms, and jumped up as Draco pulled him closer to his chest, whispering soothing words. That was when the shop keeper lost it.

"He stole it!" she shouted.

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, baffled. "I'm afraid I don't know what your referring to." His eyes narrowed, and looked at the guards around him, who, sensing danger, stepped back, allowing Draco to move freely, forming a wide semi-circle around the father and son. "But for harassing my son, I'm sorry to say that I can't speak to you right now for fear of loosing my temper." Cold fire flickered in his icy blue orbs. "Please," he said, his lips thin, "If you would let us on our way, we won't be any trouble to you."

"No," the woman said, putting her hands on her hips, " _I'm_ afraid to tell you that your _son_ is a _thief."_

The crowd murmured their consent. _"Thief."_

 _"_ My son," Draco said, his voice tight, "is worth ten of you, and it would do you good to remember that."

The unspoken threat lingered in the air.

"Your son," the bookkeeper said, "is nothing but a common failure. Just like all of your kind. You _Malfoys_. You _Pureblood Terrorists._ "

"Do you recall Shakespeare, perchance? _'What's a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'_ I believe what he was referring to is your kind; the kind that can't look past names. I'm not arrogant enough to say that I'm good - or even remotely pleasant. Call me what you want. But don't say anything like that about my son. Scorpius is a good - no, _great_ \- child, who will never repeat my mistakes." Draco's expression was guarded.

"Shakespeare, Frenchie? Didn't think you were smart enough to see past your nose," she said, and tossed her red locks over her shoulder. "Or, judging by that..ah.. _product_ over there, your sex drive." Draco tightened his grip around his son's small body. "And where's little Scorp's Mum? Did she leave you?" In for the kill. "Did she finally realize that you're _nothing_?"

The shopkeeper roughly ripped the book out of Scorpius's hands, making the small child almost fall over his own feet in surprise.

The tension in the air was palpable.

"Don't. Don't you dare talk like that." Every head turned to the source of the voice, and the shop owner gasped a bit when she saw the voice. Harry Potter raised his head to meet hers.

"M-Mr. Potter! Savior of the Wizarding world!" the shopkeeper smoothed her skirt down and plastered a smile on her face. "I was just telling off this little _Malfoy."_

"What was the crime?" Harry said, his voice steadily increasing in volume and intensity. "Theft? I saw the kid buy it. The book. He _paid for it_."

"Sir, you don't realize—" she fumbled for words.

"No. I saw him buy it. He had this little wallet, this cute little wallet made of _Duct tape, damnit,_ and he went up, and pulled out his coins, and paid for the book, all in sickles. He saved for this book, and he bought it." He nodded to Scorpius and Draco, who's face had taken a strange mixture between disgust and admiration. "Malfoy, you have flaws, but your kid isn't a bloody thief." Draco nodded his consent. Harry held out his hand, and took the book from the shopkeeper.

The woman, miffed that the book was removed from her possession, crossed her arms and drew herself to her full height. "Well, he may not have stolen the book, but—" she pointed to Draco, "—the crimes that Malfoy over there has committed is worth a life in Azkaban."

The crowd murmured their consent, and, for a second, everyone thought that Harry was going to agree.

Harry raised his head to meet the shopkeepers. "How dare you," he uttered, each word clear and precise and obviously intentional. "You sick, sick person _._ "

The shopkeeper gasped. For a moment, even time itself seemed to hang on a thread.

Suddenly, her hurt expression was replaced by one of anger. "No, how dare _you._ There the bad ones, Mr. Potter! Their family has killed thousands, and will continue to kill thousands! How can you be defending them?"

"No, Ma'am," Harry's voice was soft, and, somehow, more scary than his loud and brash one. He looked her straight in the eye. "How can you ridicule people based on their past? The war is over. _Over._ It's been over for five years. I remember what happened. I suffered more than anyone, and I know what it's like to want revenge - but, if you do take that revenge, you're no better than any Death Eater."

With an air of grace, he walked over and placed the heavy tome in Draco's unoccupied hand, who just gaped at him, stunned.

Her face looked crestfallen for a second, before it scrunched up in determination. "And though the wizarding world may be indebted to you, I can't help but question your judgement." She sighed. "Nevertheless, I can't oppose you. Have a nice day, Mr. Potter." To the Malfoys, she just offered a sneer, and turned on her heel, boots clicking down the cobblestone. The people gathered started to slowly filter away as well, and, soon, everything was quiet, as if it was naught but a passing shower, and the sun came up again.

"Daddy?" Scorpius tugged on his father's shirt sleeve. "What's a Death Eater?"

But Draco didn't answer; he was to busy wondering what the hell had happened with Potter. The clicks of patent-leather shoes on cobble becoming fainter were the only sounds that he heard. "Why did you do it?" he said before he could stop himself. The footsteps started to get louder, and he could soon see his shiny shoes on the pavement.

"Do what, Malfoy?" he asked, his voice strained and tired. Harry looked up at Malfoy. He noticed, for the first time, how much the bone in his wrist stood out, where the cuff of his shirt ended. Had it always done that?

"You're not an imbecile, Potter. You know..that," he muttered, and hoisted Scorpius further up on his hip.

"That?"

"That."

"I didn't do it for you, Malfoy." Harry ran a hand through his wild hair. "I did it because it was the right thing to do."

"Oh, Potter, always so righteous."

Harry made a small disparaging noise in the back of his throat, and turned to the toddler that Malfoy was holding.

"Who's this?" he asked.

Draco looked genuinely surprised that somebody had taken interest in his child for a second, before he schooled his expression. He looked to his sleeping son, a rare warmth in his eyes. "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

"Mmm. Trust you to give your son the most ridiculous name in the book."

"Trust you to display your below-average intelligence and not understand the symbolic and literary meaning behind the name."

"Is it even possible to have literary meaning behind a name?"

"Is it even possible to be as stupid as you?"

"I'm not the one who shows their gratitude by snarking the person they should be grateful to."

"Oh, Potter, I would offend you, but it seems as though nature has already done that for me."

"This is childish."

"Agreed."

"I-I should go." The sound of Harry's heels clicking down the street carried to Draco's ears. Draco re-adjusted Scorpius in his arms, who whined a bit, almost asleep, and looked to the sky. He bit his lip and sighed through his teeth. "Wait, Potter."

Harry stopped, again. "What is it this time, Malfoy?"

"I-I…er…commend your efforts to be a noble person," Draco shifted his weight. His arms, full of toddler, were starting to become numb and heavy. "However, the question remains; Why? I mean, why not join in? I've certainly caused you enough headache."

"Because," Harry adjusted his glasses. "I mean…I may hate you and all, but I'm not a monster."

"You're not like me," Draco half-mocked, half-stated.

It was quiet for a long while, or perhaps it was a short while - the passage of time slipped through their hands.

After a bit, Scorpius looked up, and saw Harry. Upon seeing his face, he smiled. "Hi," he murmured, "I'm Scorpius Malfoy. Thanks."

"Your welcome, little guy," Harry said, with a small smile. He had a soft spot for children. Even if this was Malfoy's spawn.

Scorpius, done with his rest, climbed down from his father's arms and stood on his own feet, and consented to walk holding his Draco's hand.

"Little guy?" Scorpius asked. "I've never really been called 'Little guy'. I like it."

At this point, Draco intervened. "That's nice, Scorpius," he told him, his voice strained. "Potter, I..I don't know what to say. One of these days, all these times you've saved my life are going to catch up with me."

"How about… _Thanks, Harry_? Or, _Thank You, Potter_ , if you prefer. Or, _Merci, Harry,_ " Harry smirked, unaware he was mirroring the expression a much younger, much less frail, much prouder Draco Malfoy had worn when confronting a much younger, much frailer, much less proud Harry Potter on the first day they met, at Madam Malkins.

The faintest of smiles slid onto Draco's face before sliding off again, as if Draco's expressions were naught but fluctuating weather. " _Parlez-vous français? Je l'espère; ayant la capacité de parler la langue française est un outil utile d'avoir où aller sur la vie._ "

Harry stared at him blankly. "I have no idea what you just said. _Merci_ is literally one of the only French words I know."

Draco snorted. "You wouldn't know what I said." A pause. "Besides, there's no way that I would thank you. Malfoys do not thank those below them."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Harry said, looking at the heavens.

"What?" Draco snapped, annoyed.

"For a second there, you were being so civil, I thought that someone had possessed you." Draco sneered before softening his expression.

"Potter. I need to repay you, somehow."

"Malfoy. I didn't do it for you."

"However, it benefited me; therefore, I must pay you back."

"Slytherins."

"Gryffindors."

Scorpius, tired of standing on his feet, gestured to Draco to pick him up, which he did. Harry heard his back crack as he stood up, and wondered briefly if his spine was okay. Then, he wondered why he even cared. This was just Malfoy, after all.

Draco looked Harry dead in the eyes. "Potter, I need to pay you back."

"Malfoy. We discussed this." Both had yet to break the stare - perhaps it was because both didn't want to loose.

"Potter. I. Need. To. Pay. You. Back."

"Malfoy."

" _Potter."_

Harry broke the stare and scuffed his toe on the pavement, running a hand through his already-messy hair in desperation. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Just," Malfoy exhaled through his teeth. "Just—here." He transferred Scorpius's weight to one hand, and, with the other, reached into his coat pocket, drawing out a crinkled, yellowed piece of paper with a bit of difficulty. Balancing his once-again sleeping son on one hip, and somehow still keeping the book afloat, he offered it to Harry, who just stared at it.

"Take it. It's not jinxed," He said, impatient. Nobody moved. Draco sneered. "Look, Potter, I can't hold this forever. Scorp's getting heavy in my hands - not to mention the book. Do you want it?"

Hesitantly, Harry reached out, and took it, making sure not to touch any part of Draco's skin.

"What is this?" Harry fingered at the seemingly innocent parchment, which was neatly folded in half and smelled very faintly of smoke. (Not that he smelled it. Not at all).

"My address. If need be, you may call upon me as for me to repay my favor to you."

"Merlin, Malfoy, you manage to talk like a pompous git even when you're thanking me."

"Potter."

"Do you just keep this lying around? I mean, carry your address everywhere, for a time like this? Do you have a special pocket in that suit of yours for them? And why the hell are you even wearing a suit? I mean, why aren't you wearing robes? Pureblood much? You look like—" Harry stopped his rant when Draco raised a thin, blond eyebrow, managing to look elegant and refined, despite wearing wrinkled clothes, carrying a toddler and a book, and being the one at a disadvantage in the situation.

Draco resisted the urge to break his stare from Potter's Avada-Kedavra green eyes. "Take it. Just take it."

With a hint of what might have been a smile, Harry slipped the paper into his robes. "Well," he said, "what would I use this address for?"

"If you are in a state of distress, you may - ah, - visit me at my establishment."

Harry snorted. "I'd like to see how distressed I would be if I had to go and visit _you_."

"Look, Potter, you don't have to use it. I'm not doing this for you - I'm doing this so that I don't have a life debt hanging over my shoulders."

Scorpius stirred in his sleep, and Draco held him a little closer, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words. The little boy slid his thumb into his mouth, and curled up closer.

"Wow," Harry murmured, mostly to himself, "he really loves you."

Draco turned a faint shade of red. "Well, I am his father. It is only right for him to have some degree of respect for me."

"No, Malfoy," Harry muttered, "He doesn't have respect for you." At Draco's outraged look, Harry continued. "He…has a different kind of attachment to you. You've…raised him well." Harry choked out the words. "And, by the way that he stood up to that lady, it looks that you've gotten a Gryffindor on your hands."

Draco's face turned even more red, before he schooled his expression, and said the words that Harry would have never expected to come out of his old-school enemy's mouth. "Well, Scorpius can be whatever he wants to be. I'm — The — well, let's just say the Malfoy name isn't as popular nowadays, as demonstrated by that lovely bookkeeper."

"How old?" Harry smiled slightly

"What?" Draco jerked his head up.

"How old's Scorpius?"

"He'll be five in December, and I've already enrolled him in school."

"Four? And going to school? What the hell have you done to that kid?"

"It's not my fault that Scorpius is a genius."

"Genius? That's an exaggeration. He's smart, but not, like, Hermione smart."

"Really?" Draco smirked. "Have you really talked to him?"

"No, but—" Harry looked back, and watched as Draco gently tapped on his son's shoulder.

"Scorp? _Réveiller, mon cher._ " Scorpius yawned and, through sleepy eyes, looked at his father.

"Daddy? Why aren't we at home?" He glanced at Harry, and leaned his head on Draco's chest. "Oh, hi, Harry."

"Scorp, we're almost home. Just answer me one question — what is ten times five? Remember what I taught you."

"Too easy, Daddy. 'S fifty. Yep. Fifty fifty fifty fifty." Scorpius nodded matter of factly, ignorant to the impressed and surprised look on Harry's face, and closed his eyes. "Can we go home now?"

"Almost, Scorpius. _Juste attendre un peu plus longtemps_. Just wait a little longer," Draco answered, a slight smile playing on his lips. He turned to Harry.

"See, Potter? Smart."

Harry offered a somewhat surprised, somewhat suppressed grin. "Yeah..well, I'll stop by if I need a favor, Malfoy."

"Ever heard of an empty offer, Potter?"

"I have your address."

Draco smoothed his son's hair down and began to walk away. "Well, if anything, this was fun, Potter." His boney form became smaller and smaller as he walked down the alleyway.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, to nobody in particular. "If anything, you're amusing to talk to, Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 2

**What's this? An update? Oh, no, the apocalypse is coming!**

 **Sorry for the long wait, folks. And thanks to all those who reviewed, favorited, and followed. I'm pleasantly surprised that this story has gotten so much attention - well, I'm not complaining.**

 **This chapter is very different from what I usually write. Keep in mind that this chapter spans a time of a few months. It starts mostly humorous, and ends very darkly.** **The next chapter will be fluffy to make up for it.** **Oh, and Ginny's in this one, so expect lots of chaos. I'm not in love with her character, but I'll do my best to be unbiased. I don't do character bashing.**

 **Disclaimer: see ch. 1**

* * *

The second that he stepped into the house, Harry knew something was wrong. Very, very, _very_ wrong, in fact.

It was the same house, of course. The same light shined, the same smell of cinnamon-sugar and musty floors was still there, the same sounds of dinner being made, the same Daily Prophet haphazardly strewn on the same battered, old couch. Yet, the very feeling in the air, the very presence of darkness, was utterly tangible. The bright, florescent lights that once made him feel instantly at home only seemed to accentuate the shadows in the corners of the room.

"Ginny?" Harry asked, his voice wavering. "Hey, Gin, is dinner ready? I had the most interesting day today, honey, how was yours?"

Ginny appeared in the hallway, holding a spatula. Harry smiled at the sight of his beautiful, talented fiancé.

He leaned in for a kiss when Ginny slapped him in the face with the kitchen utensil. "Harry James Potter," she hissed. "Just what were you doing yesterday?"

"W-what?" Harry asked, confused. "Gin, calm down—"

"—Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" Ginny was starting to become angry, her cheeks flushed pink, her hair spilling down her back like a fiery waterfall. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?!"

"Gin—" Harry started, confused.

"Don't you 'Gin' me!" she was yelling by now, her entire face red, her honey-brown eyes scrunched in anger, her posture tense and rigid. She held the spatula in front of her, a sword against the world. Against Harry.

"Ginny? What the hell?" Harry was getting frustrated by now.

"No, no, no, no! _No!"_ Ginny screamed, little droplets of spit flicking everywhere, her lipstick-red lips wet with saliva. She hit Harry on the head with the spatula. "Get away from me!"

"Ginny! What the hell are you talking about, damnit? I have no idea what you're referring to! So put that damn thing down and talk!" Harry's face was red by now, too.

"That stunt you pulled! It was in the paper! Malfoy, Harry? _Malfoy_?" Harry glanced at the paper, and nearly groaned out loud when he saw a full-page picture of himself telling off the shopkeeper. He walked over and picked it up, opening it with a mock display of decorum.

"What, this? _'Savior or Psycho? The Vanquisher of the Dark and Auror, Harry Potter, Publicly Defends Convicted Death Eater and Spawn.'_ You really believe this?" He thew Ginny an disgusted look. "And you didn't even wait for me to tell you what happened?"

Ginny glanced at Harry for a moment, her lips tight. "Fine," she bit out. "Tell me what happened."

"Okay, so, I'm going to the bookstore, and I see this really cute little kid, and he goes up and buys this book—"

"I don't care about some kid buying a book! Did you defend Malfoy against justice, or not?!" Ginny interrupts.

"Yes! No! Argh!" Harry ran a hand though his hair in exasperation. "Just let me _explain!"_

"Well, then, explain, will you?" Ginny's eyes flashed.

Harry closed his eyes and grabbed the bridge of his nose, breathing in and out once before adjusting his glasses and sighing. "Ginny, just let me start where I left off." At Ginny's look, he held up a hand. "Look, it's important to the story."

Steadying himself, Harry let out a puff of air and continued, his hair matted with sweat and his cheeks still pink with the touch of anger. "Okay. I see the kid, right? And he buys the book and walks out, and then, all of a sudden, the manager turns and looks at him and starts screaming bloody murder at him." Harry paused, and looked at her through the corners of his eyes. "And, remember, this kid is, like, five."

Harry's movements became more animated as he recalled the injustice. "And this lady starts harassing this kid in the streets, and then the kid's father comes out and starts comforting him—"

"—Listen, Harry," Ginny snapped, "as _fascinating_ I'm sure little-kid-with-a-book is, how is this is relevant?"

"— _Can you just shut the hell up and listen to me!?_ " Harry screamed, and, for a second, his eyes seemed more like the killing curse than a green-pickled frog.

The tension that lingered between them after, Harry reckoned, couldn't be cut by a knife — you'd definitely need something more heavy duty, like an axe.

Taking a deep breath and shifting his weight onto his right foot, Harry went on with his story. "Okay, yesterday. Um…Oh, yeah. So, the kid's dad starts comforting him, and then, I set the shopkeeper in her place and left. End of story."

"Okay, Golden Boy, I get it, you saved an innocent child, _blah blah blah._ What does this have to do with Malfoy?" Ginny was getting frustrated, and twin dots of color had also begun to appear on the tips of her ears.

"Oh. They were Malfoys. The kid and his dad, I mean," Harry sighed. "That's all that happened, okay?"

"That's all that happened?" Ginny screeched, before she grinned like a maniac and looked at Harry from under her lashes, seductive in some sort of sick way. "Say, Harry darling, do you happen to know who that shop keeper happened to be?"

"N-No," Harry mumbled, confused on the dramatic change in Ginny's attitude.

"Well, _honeypot_ ," crooning, Ginny flipped her hair, "didn't you remember that I'd went to a family gathering yesterday? You know, all the Weasleys in one place?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry was baffled, and rubbed the back of his neck in excess anxiety.

"And, you know my great aunt Melinda, right?" Ginny's eyes flashed.

"You might've mentioned her. A few times?" Harry turned somewhat apprehensive eyes to Ginny.

"And, guess what, dearie?" Ginny looked straight at Harry and dropped the act, her voice menacing and lowering a few octaves, until it was naught but a dangerous, raspy whisper. "When I went to the family gathering, Auntie Melinda was there, and told everyone this story. Oh, and I forgot to mention — Auntie is the shopkeeper at Flourish and Blotts booksellers."

"Ginny—"

"What?"

"Gin, I know, but I did the right thing. Certainly you understand that, right?"

"Yeah, sure, but Aunt Melinda is _kin_ , Harry. My family - no, _our_ family - has to come first."

"But Gin, don't you want to be just? Fair? Otherwise—"

"There is no otherwise, Harry!"

"Well, then, what is right if we can't defend innocents?"

"What's right if we don't stick up for our kin?"

"Ginny, it's fine to love family, but you should always do the right thing in the face of justice! That's — that's the meaning of true justice! Otherwise, it's, like, faux justice!"

"Faux Justice? Betraying your family is faux justice!"

"Yeah, well, I think differently!"

"Well, if you do, that's just because _you've never had a family to care for!_ "

Harry drew in a sharp intake of breath. Both Harry and Ginny stood opposite each other, Ginny's eyes conflicted and Harry's surprised and hurt, both knowing some line had just been crossed. Harry's lips drew into a sharp line and Ginny's hair had fallen out of her neat bun.

Ginny broke the stare first. "Look, Harry," she sighed. "I'm so, so, sorry. I- I don't agree with you, but—"

"Save it." Harry held up a hand. "Don't."

"Harry—"

" _You know what you said! You know what? Your right! I've never had a family to care for me!_ " Harry screamed and looked right at Ginny, eyes fighting back tears. "And, judging by what you just said to me, _I'm not going to find one in you!_ "

Now it was Ginny's turn to be angry. Her once sympathetic features morphed into those of anger. "Yeah? Well, if you feel that way, I guess you're _never going to have one!"_

The silence that followed afterwards was deadly.

Harry's expression turned blank. After a few moments, his shoulders dropped somewhat and he rubbed his eyes. "Look, Gin," he sighed. "I think we're both just a little tired from a long day and we need to calm down." His voice was tight and posture tired.

"Is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Ginny nodded her head just a bit.

"Let's not fight."

"Okay, Harry, let's not fight."

"I guess this means I'm sleeping on the couch today, right?" Harry, uncomfortable, attempted a joke. Ginny gave a high, false laugh.

"Harry, it's just that—"

"What?"

She sighed. "Nothing. I'll see you in the morning, okay?" Flashing him a stiff smile that didn't meet her eyes, she smoothed her wrinkled apron down and headed up the stairs.

It could've been worse, Harry thought to himself, yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd just witnessed the beginning of the end.

* * *

"Eggs? Again?"

"If you don't like the way I do meals, do it yourself, oh, _Mighty Chosen One!_ "

"Gin, it's dinner! Dinner's not supposed to be - well, _that_. And this is the fourth time in a row!"

"What's wrong with eggs?!" Ginny threw her wand that she'd been using to fry eggs with down.

"What's right with eggs for dinner?!"

"Everything!"

 _"Nothing!"_

Harry glared at Ginny, who glared right back. Ginny slammed the plates onto the counter and violently flipped the eggs onto them. One missed and hit the wall, sticking for a second before sliding down slowly, leaving a trail of grease marks in its wake.

"Ginny," Harry sighed. This was their third fight this week. "Sorry. I just would really prefer if we got some more, uh, variety in here."

"Do you do the shopping? Do you do the cooking? Do you? Huh?" Ginny exploded, her gestures wild.

"No, but—"

"Well, then, you can shut your trap, Harry James Potter, because you don't do a thing around here. I slave away all day like a bloody house elf, and you come in expecting everything done!" Ginny interrupted, throwing down the cooking utensil she had been using.

"Hey, now—" The corners of Harry's mouth were starting to turn down, and a crease between his eyebrows had started to form.

"—I do everything around here! Everything! And you come in, king of the world, and never thanking me! I deserve better than this, Harry!"

Harry's eyes flashed. "That's not fair to say. Who makes all the money? Huh? Who has to go to work every day and pay the bills?"

"Pay the bills? Harry, you make me laugh. With all the inheritance and the money from the ministry you've gotten, there's nothing that you need to work for." She frowned. "It's your choice to give it all away to stupid charities."

"There not stupid charities!" Harry shouted. "There what's helping the wizarding world pull itself back together! Think of Hogwarts! Think of all those orphaned children, alone in this world! Without proper funding and care, any of those children could easily become another Lord Voldemort."

"Become another _Voldemort_?" Ginny flipped her hair and snorted. "That's absurd. You Know Wh— _Voldemort_ was a bad egg. Tom Marvolo Riddle was born a psychopath. Those children aren't. Besides, their parents died fighting for them. If anything, they should be proud. Wear their orphan status with honor."

Harry's eyes darkened considerably. "Nobody's born bad, Ginny. Not even the boy who became Voldemort."

Ginny also became more upset. "Did you almost get killed by him in the chamber? Did you? Did you feel his - his presence seeping into you, stealing your soul? Have you felt him possess you? _Have you_?"

Harry sighed and ran a hand though his hair. "Gin, he was a bad person by then. Tom had made the wrong choices, and the world paid the price. Fine. I'll give you that. But he wasn't born rotten. It's orphanages and abandoned children and abused children that turns kids into monsters."

"Fine. What the hell. I get it, Harry." She looked over at the plate. "Our dinner is getting cold."

"I'll make dinner tomorrow."

"But—"

"Look, Ginny, you complained. You said I didn't do enough around here. So, I'll do something."

"Harry, I didn't mean it like that!"

"Well, what the hell did you mean by it, then?"

"Look, calm down." Ginny looked at Harry. "Just, calm down, Harry."

Harry watched with detached amusement as Ginny attempted to clean up the spilled eggs. After a moment, he spoke, his voice barley above a murmur.

"We can stop giving to the charities, you know. If it would make you feel better."

Ginny stopped scrubbing at the wall and looked at him. "No, Harry, I know how much those mean to you." She sighed, straightening up and using her wand to banish the egg pieces on the floor. "I don't know why, but they do. So, we can keep doing it. Donating, I mean."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Okay."

 _"Okay."_

Harry sat down at the table, and Ginny followed his example. For a long while, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware against new, shiny, white china plates.

Both pretended not to notice that they had taken a chair apart from one another.

* * *

"Gin?" Harry looked up from the couch that he'd taken to sleeping on. Ginny was coming in the house, and the door opened with a creak. He glanced over at the clock. "What the hell are you doing up at one in the bleeding morning?"

Ginny whipped around, her hair flying in all directions. "Shh, go to sleep, Harry."

"Gin?" Harry cracked open an eyelid. "Whaaa?"

"Harry, just go back to sleep."

"Mmmm. That doesn't explain anything."

Delirious, he smirked. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're cheating on me. Imagine the headline: _'Ginevra Weasley's Romantic Life — the Daring Seductress that cheated on Harry Potter.'_ That'll be the day, right?"

Ginny's expression was unreadable in the darkness of the room. Closing the door behind her gently, Ginny slipped into more comfortable shoes.

"Harry. Sleep."

"You still didn't answer my question." Harry's voice had taken a mocking tone, and his face, in the moment, looked as if twenty years of hardship had been taken off of it.

"Harry. I was just going to Mum's house. She said that she missed me and I simply had to go." Ginny's expression didn't waver.

"Okay, Gin, whatever you say." Harry burrowed further into the blanket he had taken from the master bedroom. Without his glasses and with his scar under his dark bangs, he almost looked like a different person.

"Okay, Harry," Ginny started to leave the room. "I'm going back to bed."

"Back to bed?"

"Yeah. You should too, Harry." Cautiously, Ginny reached over and brushed his bangs away from his forehead, her fingers hesitant. Scared.

"Gin?"

"What?"

"Do you love me anymore?"

There was a pause. "Go back to sleep," she whispered, and folded his glasses that were strewn at his side. Placing them on the coffee table, she moved her way around the couch, and exited.

"You didn't answer my question," Harry whispered as he heard the telltale creak of the staircase that signified she was now going upstairs.

After a moment, Harry sighed, and sniffed the air. He told himself that he didn't smell anything suspicious in it. (Perhaps, if he told himself enough, he could believe it.) He ignored the fact that Ginny's clothes had been a bit rumpled. It was just because of her taking care of his sick mother, he reasoned. Of course. There wasn't anything else going on.

By the morning, the encounter had been forgotten.

* * *

" _Enough."_ Ginny's firm word cut though the icy silence. " _Enough."_

Harry's face lost some of its color and he put his hands down, his posture rigid, confused. He murmured his agreement. _"Enough."_

Ginny sighed and put her hands in her pockets. She paced around a bit before she met her fiancé's eyes. "Look, Harry, we've been arguing a lot lately."

"Any more enlightening comments, oh wise one?" Harry snarked, still a bit hot tempered from their most recent argument (it had something to do about a cat.)

Ginny looked as if she was about to retort for a second, before her shoulders slumped and her head lolled forward.

"Harry, I've always admired you," she started, her face blank, "and I always will. But, recently, as you've probably noticed, we haven't been getting along as well as we used to. I first dismissed it as a bump in the road. After all, _'the course of true love never did run smooth_.' But…this is…what? The sixteenth argument we've had? In the course of three weeks?" Harry visibly deflated as he realized the gravity of the situation.

"Gin. Ginny—"

"No."

"What does this mean? For us? We're engaged. We can't just break up! We love each other! I gave you the ring to prove it!"

"Do we? Do we really?"

"Really what?"

"Love each other?"

"Gin, of course we do. Come on. Just like you said before. Something about the course of love. Really."

"Harry, why? You're just making this so much harder for me to say."

"W-what do you want to say?" Harry's face turned white as realization dawned on him. "No, Gin, no, no, no, no…I love you, Gin, please, no.."

"I'm sorry, Harry." Ginny stuck out a smooth pointer finger, and removed the diamond ring that Harry had once placed so lovingly on.

Harry ran up at once, holding her hands, muttering, not allowing himself to cry. He stared up at her, a slightly feral look in his eyes, his mouth moving yet no words came out.

"I'm so, so, so, sorry, Harry. I really wanted this to work out," Ginny murmured, and held the band of smooth diamonds in her palm, her eyes full of tears. She pressed it into Harry's hand. "Here. I-it's yours, now."

Harry ran up to her, finally finding his voice. "No, Ginny, we don't have to be this dramatic." He placed the ring back into her hand, and tenderly moved her fingers so she was encasing it. "No. Not yet. We don't have to sacrifice everything over a few petty arguments. I can change. I can change, Gin! I'll change for you. I love you, baby."

"Change?" Ginny snorted, her tears falling onto her lips. "I think that's the whole problem."

"No. Gin, let's take this slow. We- we can just…" Harry ran a desperate hand through his hair. "Let's just take a break. Just a break. Nothing else. Just…just."

Harry looked at Ginny his eyes begging. Ginny averted her luminescent brown orbs. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't do that."

"Of course you can!"

"No, I can't."

"What do you mean? We can just…live away from each other for a little while. And then…we can come back. Together. Us. Maybe all we need is a little time to ourselves."

"No, Harry. I've already told you _No!"_

"Gin, I'm trying to fix this! I'm trying to fix us! Please! I love you, and I know you love me. Please."

"Harry, will you stop being so damn pushy! I said no!"

"Why not, Gin? Honey, please, be reasonable. Honey—"

Ginny slapped Harry on the face. "Stop that! I'm not your _'Honey'_ anymore! We! Are! _Over!"_

Harry's fingers traced the outline of where Ginny had slapped him, his eyes full of surprise and hurt.  
"Oh, Merlin, Harry, Merlin, I'm sorry.." Ginny put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. "Please don't tell me I didn't just do that…"

"Please, Gin," Harry didn't seem to feel the pain of the slap, and continued begging. "Please…just a break…please…we can't be over…I love you.."

"Harry, I can't."

"Then tell me why! I don't understand!"

"No, you don't."

"Then tell me."

"I can't."

"Gin, I'm here. Are you pregnant? It's okay if you're pregnant. We can deal with that."

"No. Harry—"

"Sick? I can help. Really. I can. I can help you, Gin."

"Harry—"

"In pain? Are you in need of something? Is there anything I can do? Gin, tell me please, so I can help—"

" _Harry!"_

Harry's stuttered musings were broken, and he stared at Ginny, who was now fidgeting back and forth, playing with a loose auburn curl.  
"H-Harry?" Ginny took a deep breath. "I-I just can't."

"Gin, I'm trying to help us. We'll just—"

 _"I said I can't dammit! Do you need me to spell it out for you? Harry James Potter, I'm dating someone else! I have been since that first fight!"_ Ginny's rage had finally gotten the best of her.

"You've…cheated on me?" Harry murmured, not quite believing it.

"Harry…"

"Ginevra Weasley. How. Could. You." Harry's voice was empty, devoid of feeling, his face a mask. "Though, I must say, you did an excellent job of hiding it. I mean, you even got it past me!" He glared at her. "I can defeat Voldemort at the age of seventeen, yet I can't tell when my own wife-to-be cheats on me." His eyes narrowed even further, until the point when they looked like just a blur of eyelashes. "How long? Who? How far did you go?"

"Harry, please, you're right, we should just take a break—"

 _"No."_ Harry's one word might as well have been an unforgivable with the amount of sheer malice it held. "Ginny, you betrayed my trust. I loved you. No longer. No amount of time can fix this. Nothing. _Nothing."_

Harry turned on his heel, ready to go upstairs. "I'm going to go pack my things. You can take this house — maybe I'll use some of that _inheritance I bought_ and _finally put it to good use rather than waste it on charities."_

Harry's eyes were dry and his face blank. He began to move up the stairs when he felt smooth, long fingers encircle his own. He whipped around, unaware just how frightening his presence was at the moment.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Dean," Ginny rasped, her nose now becoming clogged from crying. A drop of snot was beginning to make its appearance, and her cheeks were lined with tear tracks, her eyes red.

"What?"

"Dean Thomas. I've had sex with him almost every other night for the past two months, right after our fight about the Malfoys."

"Oh."

Ginny's face became somewhat more red. "Don't you have anything else to say besides that? I've been cheating on you! Don't you want revenge?"

"Revenge is for the weak."

"Great, now you sound like bloody Dumbledore."

Harry whipped around, so that his blank eyes met Ginny's fierce ones. "No, I simply don't think you're worth my effort anymore, Ginny. Not worth my tears. Not worth _anything."_ He spat at her feet. "Oh, and I think this might be yours." He threw the engagement ring at Ginny, who missed, and it crashed onto the floor, the diamond splintering into two main pieces. For a second, Harry's mask fell, and he looked on the verge of tears. Then, with fierce determination, he scrunched up his face and stomped onto the crystal, shattering it into fragments.

 _"Accio trunk. Accio Harry's things."_ A trunk and a few pictures in frames jumped into Harry's open hand, and he immediately shrunk them with a simple charm and slipped them into his pocket.

"Harry. Wait," Ginny said, desperation leaking into her words. "I'm sorry. Let's just go back to the way things were." Harry paused, his foot halfway into his fancy loafers. Ginny took this as a good sign and continued. "I mean, I know that we've had some bad times, but we shouldn't let those crowd all the good times we've had together. We fought Voldemort together! We did everything together…we're destined for each other. I mean, look how much we have in common! We may fight, but we should always brand together!"

Harry whipped around suddenly, and Ginny gasped at the sheer hatred etched onto his face. It looked strange, foreign on Harry's peaceable, kind features. "We. Are. Over. You betrayed my trust. You _had sex, multiple times, with another man while engaged to me._ You always have to have your way, and you've hit me. I can't stand you. Goodbye."

Shoving the rest of his foot into his dress shoes, he slammed the door open. He stood in the doorway, his cloak billowing in the chilly air. The smell of smoke drifted in, oddly fitting, and, though the sounds of the streets below were more prominent than ever, Harry and Ginny's own little world seemed encased in a bubble of solitude.

"Remember, Ms. Weasley. As ye sow, _ye shall reap."_ And, with that definitive statement, the door slammed shut, and Harry was gone.

Ginny's hand was still outstretched, her long, pale fingers still reaching out, as if she could still reach out and grab him, if only she tried hard enough. Swallowing her tears and smoothing her clothes, she made her way to the frosty window, brushing away the light mist that formed with delicate grace.

The not-as-young-as-she-once-was woman watched as her ex-fiancé fought the cold August winds, and couldn't help but think how similar he was to the golden leaves that adorned the brittle bones of the trees, falling from where they once grew up, and riding the brisk air to another place - _to freedom._

 _"Goodbye, Harry."_


	3. Chapter 3

**So, last installment of this fic, eh? Time goes by so fast…**

 **As always, enjoy. Sorry for making such a short fanfiction. Hope to write longer in the future, but I could't see making this any longer.**

 _"Don't touch that, Scorp! Bed! Now!"_ A very harassed looking Draco Malfoy, wearing a very wrinkled, half-off suit, yelled at his son as he pulled open the door. Back still turned, he put his head in his hands. _"No! Bed! You have school tomorrow!"_ A pause, in which some muffled words could be heard from the other side of the door. _"I don't care that you can't sleep! You need to try harder!"_ A sigh. _"No, there's no time for more stories! Bed!"_ A muttered curse word. _"I'm going to give you five seconds to get into bed. Five! Four! Three! Two—"_ A breath of relief. " _Thank Merlin._ Good boy. Now, _sleep."_ Another, longer pause. Malfoy's boney shoulders relaxed a bit. "I-I have regards for you as well _, Mon Cher."_ Little mouse feet shuffled across the floors.

Draco Malfoy pulled open the door all the way, the bridge of his nose pinched between his two pointer fingers. He raised his head, charcoal smudges under his eyes and dated, worn glasses perched on his nose. Upon seeing his guest, he didn't gasp in surprise or burst into laughter or even slam the door right then and there. With a detached sort of acceptance, Draco looked straight into green eyes.

"Potter." Each syllable was drawn out, like the days past at Hogwarts, but stress and weariness had started to taint the once-smooth, if slightly high, aristocratic tenor. Stepping inside, Malfoy slammed the door shut with force.

Harry staggered in before collapsing onto his unlikely Prince Charming. His pupils were diluted and it seemed as if he couldn't stand his own weight. Draco recoiled in disgust, and almost fell, his feet tripping, at the sudden load.

"Merlin, Potter, how drunk are you?" Suspicion riddled the blonde's voice.

"P-Pretty damn drunk," Harry moved his feet around on the ground, his torso supported by Draco. He looked up at him from his reclined position, arms lolling to the sides, feet splayed out across the apartment floor, glasses half off his face. He gave a sloppy grin. Draco turned his face away and leaned back, a sneer curling its way onto his lips. "God, Ferret Boy, what's with the specs?" Another smile, and Harry pulled his face closer to Draco's, eyes furrowing in concentration. "Mmmmm. Now we can be…Glasses Buddies!" He reached out a shaking finger and pushed Draco's glasses up, slamming them painfully onto his nose. "Boop!"

Harry then frowned, his facial expressions exaggerated, looking for all the world like a small, confused child. "Malfie, I can feel your ribs," he hiccuped out, before his voice turned mock-informative, imitating that of Draco's younger self. A dash of arrogance flavored his tone. "I know what you're going to say. _Malfoys don't do skinny._ " Draco threw himself as far back as he could without dropping Harry, his face contorted in disgust.

"God, Potter. If it wasn't this or a life debt, I'd drop you this second. On second thought, I just might."

Soft footsteps made their presence known, and both males looked up, one's face drained and repulsed, the others hanging off of his bones like a dog's ears.

"Dad?" Scorpius whispered, confused, fear lacing itself into his speech. "Guy-Who-Saved-Me? Harry?"

"Go back to bed, Scorpius," Draco said authority. Or, well as much authority as one can have when supporting a strange, drunk man in the entrance to their apartment.

"Why's he here?" Scorpius narrowed his eyes. "And why are you hugging him?"

"First of all," Draco adjusted Harry, his eyes narrowed into a glare intended to enforce dominance yet only made the shadows under his eyes stand out even more and his glasses slip down his nose, "This is _not_ a hug. Second, I'm paying Harry back for what he did for us. Third, it is ten-thirty and I am becoming angry with you."

Harry took that moment to snort, his hair wild, some plastered to his cream forehead with sweat and some sticking up to the heavens. "Mmmmm…Scor..Scer…Scolp….whadever your name is," he hiccuped, and raised a shaking finger. "Bed, now!" He laughed, too loudly, at his own joke. Draco slapped a hand over Harry's open mouth, almost loosing his grip on Harry's limp body, eyes flashing. "Quiet, Potter! We have people living downstairs and upstairs! Our landlady will kick us out if she hears you yelling like that!"

Harry threw a slack-jawed grin. "Your dad is one to enforce stuff. Why, when I was a kid—" Draco stopped the end of Harry's sentence just in time.

Scorpius's eyebrows drew together. "What's wrong with him, Daddy?"

Draco, in answer, just gave his most ferocious glare, which, despite the circumstances, was rather frightening. "Scorpius. Nothing is wrong with him." When Scorpius opened his mouth to complain, he received another intense look. He gulped. "Okay, Daddy." His steps duck-footed, he trudged back to his room, back rounded and thumb ever so slightly creeping into his mouth.

"Don't suck your thumb, Scorpius!" his father called after him, rolling his eyes. The young boy slipped the appendage out of his mouth. (And put it right back in, the second he was in the privacy of his own room. But Draco needn't know that.)

"Malfoy?" Harry's vision was blurred, and he didn't seem to realize what he was saying.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Why is he so happy?"  
Draco made a small disparaging noise. "He's a kid. He doesn't understand the challenges of the world and he doesn't have to pay bills. He's happy."

Harry's brow furrowed. "I don't ever remember being that happy." He sighed. "Especially not now."

"Look, Potter. I offered you a favor, not a counseling session."

Harry continued on, as if there had never been an interruption. "I thought that she loved me, Malfoy. I was so bloody sure that she loved me." He hiccuped. "I was so bloody sure."

He burrowed his head further into Draco's torso, much to the dismay of his companion. "You smell funny."

"Oh, is that so, Potter? You smell like alcohol."

"You smell like…." Harry inhaled. "Paper." He squinted up at Draco, who, despite his best efforts to get away, ended up being the subject of Harry's inspection.

"They suit you," Harry finally articulated.

"What do?"

"The glasses. They suit you."

"Well, glad you approve of my glasses, Potter." Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was too tired for this kind of nonsense. "I know you're drunk, but please, please tell me what the hell you are doing in my house."

Harry looked around the apartment, as if it was the first time he'd realized he was somewhere else. "We're at your house? I thought I was in a bar."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Draco lead the staggering Harry into his small living room. He pulled out a wooden chair and Harry plopped down into it without a second thought, his feet following his leaning torso.

"Potter." Draco jerked Harry's head up to meet his (unfocused, diluted) eyes. "Tell. Me. What. Bloody. Happened."

"Ya'know, you almost sounded like Snape there for a second." He crossed his eyes and hunched his back, attempting a rather bad impression of the late potion's master. "Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy." Harry collapsed into a fit of giggles, missing the almost broken, grieving expression that flashed onto his companion's face for a second. (Contrary to popular belief, Draco was haunted by the war. As much as anybody.)

"Not funny."

"Was too funny. Get it? _Too Funny?"_

"Potter. I'm going to ask one more time: What happened? You were saying something about how she loved you—"

Harry's eyes became much clearer, and his expression hardened into one of bitter, complete, terrifying rage. "I was so sure. _So damn sure._ Why did she? Why did she cheat?" His mask of anger shattered, leaving a desperate, splintered feeling behind. "I loved her. I still do. I don't know if I ever won't."

"Who's her?" Draco rubbed the tension under his eyes, pushing his glasses up onto his hands. He resolved to, yet again, get no sleep. (And he still hadn't finished his work. Life just couldn't be easy, could it?) "What did she do? And, more importantly, what can I do so I can fall asleep again?"

"Ginny. _Ginnnnnny,"_ Harry licked his lips, and just about sang the last word. "And she…" - he hiccuped - "cheated on me." His brows furrowed. "And why Dean Thomas, of all people? I mean, I'm much sexier than him. And richer."

"And ever-so-much-more modest," Draco cut in, his headache returning with full force.

"You really think so?" Harry beamed through his sadness. "Thank you!" He jumped up, ready to hug his former enemy.

"Whoa there!" Draco pushed him back into his seat, his back and knees making their complaints known about the sudden movement. "Sit down. Let's talk this through. So, your girlfriend cheated on you. No big deal."

"What do you mean, no big deal?" Harry looked at Draco like _he_ was the one who was drunk and spouting nonsense. "How is it not a big deal?"

"Course it's not a big deal," Draco muttered, weighing the pros and cons of a drink but deciding against it — there was no need for two drunk people in this house, he thought.

"It's part of a healthy marriage. Don't you know anything, Potter?"

Harry attempted to shake his head in a condescending manner, yet only managed to mess up his hair and look utterly ridiculous. "Malfoy, don't _you_ know anything? Gosh, for a man with a kid and a wife, you're really stupid."

"I don't have a wife," Draco mumbled under his breath, slightly embarrassed. "Besides, cheating is part of a healthy marriage. It keeps the peace between the husband and wife."

"You don't have a wife?" Harry laughed again, his former, fleeting focus gone, and Draco glared. Gosh, his landlady was going to kill him. "I don't either!"

Draco had long given up any hope that Harry would listen to him. Grabbing him rather roughly, he propelled him into the sofa. "Bed."

"No."

"Don't make me treat you like Scorpius."

"No."

Draco rolled his eyes, wrapping the covers tight enough around the other man that he wouldn't be able to get up.

"Yes."

Harry struggled against his weak bindings, and, in his drunken state, was unable to beat them. "Lemme go."

"No."

Harry, seemingly unfrazzoled, simply let out a puff of air. "Fine."

"Good." Harry missed the almost-half-smile, turning over to the other side of the couch.

* * *

Harry had forgotten how dreadful hangovers could be. Groaning, he cracked open his eyes, readjusting his glasses and somehow resisting the urge to vomit. He felt around blindly on the side table. Cold, skinny hands met his, and pressed a small beaker into his lax hand.

"Drink."

Uncapping the bottle with more than a little difficulty, Harry downed the contends. His vision started to clear, and the urge to chuck up his insides subsided. Blinking, he looked at his surroundings.

He was in what appeared to be a small, muggle flat. Paperwork was strewn haphazardly across the space, and a dingy kitchen lurked in the corner. The entire place smelled ever so slightly of bitter coffee. He could have sworn that he heard someone singing in the shower from below the floors. He couldn't ever remember encountering a place like this one.

"Where am I?" He looked into the face of his savior. Malfoy? He certainly wasn't expecting him, either. What had he been doing last night?

"You are at my current establishments." Draco took a long sip from a mug. "You're welcome for the potion, by the way."

"Thanks," he muttered, cautious. Memories of the night before floated in and out of his mind. Harry sighed and ran a head through his hair. Well, time to face the music, he thought dismally, and took a long breath of air. "I think I need to go to court."

"What?"

"Ginny. I need my house back. I was much too impulsive."

"Right. That makes a _whole lot_ of sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just thought it would take more to get you and Weaslette apart. I was under the impression that you and her would get married, move to the country, and have a bunch of red-heads named after dead people."

"Why would I name my kids after dead people?"

"Not the point."

Draco pushed a warm cup into Harry's hands. The steam rising up from the hot drink fogged up his glasses. He took a sip, and was immediately filled with a strange warmth. Was that…chocolate? He soon downed the entire thing.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"No problem," Draco near-whispered before smirking. "You've got…" he gestured to Harry's upper lip.

Embarrassed, Harry wiped a bit of the froth that had gathered on his upper lip off with his hand. "What was that, by the way?"

"Gosh. You sound like you've never tasted hot chocolate before."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Muggle drink. It's milk and chocolate and vanilla and an obscene amount of sugar."

"Mmm. That's what makes it so good." Harry paused. "Wait, Muggle? Since when is Draco Malfoy picking up Muggle drinks?" He looked around. "And where are we, again?"

"We're at my apartment. In the Muggle world," he admitted. "I haven't been exactly welcomed back into the wizarding community."

"I can imagine."

A silence followed. Harry sat back, before he groaned, throwing his head down. "Bloody hell."

"Language. My son's upstairs, sleeping."

"I'm going to have to go to bloody court. What was I thinking?" Harry rolled his eyes and huffed, untangling himself from his covers. "Great. Just great. I have to get the house back. I have to legally divorce Ginny. Does it count as a divorce if we weren't married, just engaged? How am I going to work out the finances? What if she's stealing all my money, as we speak?" His voice got higher as he began to work himself into a panic. "What am I going to do?"

"Well."

"Well, what?" Harry turned on Draco. "What?"

"You could stay with me and Scorpius until you've got this all figured out."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do this for me?"

"Potter," Draco sighed, leaning heavily on the coffee table. "I owe you. As much as I hate to admit it, I do. You saved my life once."

"I think it was more than once, Malfoy. What's in it for you?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right."

"Well. You'd have to take care of my son. I can't pay extra for babysitting. And you'd have to cook. And clean. You know. It would just be helpful for an extra pair of hands around here. Oh, and pay rent. I'm going to charge you rent."

"Okay. But…why?"

"I just told you. I owe you."

"Fine."

"You must be really desperate."

"Believe me, I am."

"But…."

"But what, Potter?"

"Won't this be, you know. Awkward? With our history?"

"We're adults. It's time to put petty grudges away as a thing of the past. Besides," Draco looked right at Harry. "I owe you. This is just…just like a business contract."

"Right. Business." Harry looked away.  
"Just…a way of paying dues. A purely logical trade between two business partners."

"Right. Nothing more."

"Nothing. More."

"Right."

"So, let's shake on it, Potter."

"Okay, Malfoy."

(Harry, for some inexplicable reason, couldn't look Draco in the eye. Draco, for another absolutely inexplicable reason, seemed to turn a shade pinker. Neither mentioned the slight tingle that went through them when their two hands met.)

 **~Fin~**


End file.
